


THIS CURATION (OF PERIPHERY)

by spills



Series: Liminal [3]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: EJP shenanigans, FWB slowburn, He would say that it was love at first sight, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Men are bad at feelings, Past AtsuSuna, Post-Timeskip, Promising a happy ending though!, Sadness
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-27
Updated: 2020-12-27
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:55:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28356591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spills/pseuds/spills
Summary: It is a beautiful morning. This is supposed to be his apartment. Yet all his legs seem to want is to run far, far away from the other man. He wonders if this is supposed to be the indication of a beginning or an end.
Relationships: Komori Motoya/Suna Rintarou
Series: Liminal [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1801246
Comments: 11
Kudos: 28





	THIS CURATION (OF PERIPHERY)

**Author's Note:**

> this has been in docs for months and then i just realized today like! oh!  
> something needs to change, and i'm tired of letting this ferment

“Morning babe,” Motoya yawns by the kitchen counter, feet bare against the tiled floor. He’s standing by the kettle, two mugs set on the wooden table and beside them being two packs of instant coffee threaded through the handles. Rin blinks at the numbers indicated by the microwave in bright red. 

Today is a Sunday. There really is no reason for Motoya to be awake at 8:33a.m., standing in Rin’s kitchen. 

It’s cold and Motoya’s to blame, because he left Rin all alone in bed, which is incredibly rude. How dare he leave Rin to be cold in bed, to be making coffee in nothing but Rin’s t-shirt. 

The morning sun has Motoya’s tan skin glowing bronze, while half his face is obscured from the light behind him. Rin pads over to Motoya, and wraps his arms around his teammate’s waist. He drapes his being over the shorter’s back, and buries his nose into the fabric of the shirt. He notes that the cotton smells like the detergent that he uses, mixed with the other man’s scent. 

“Come back to bed ‘Toya,” Rin grumbles, nuzzling his face into the warmth Motoya radiates, “It’s cold. Aren’t you cold?” 

“No Rin,” Motoya laughs with sleep still heavy in his voice, “Some of us are actually morning people,” which causes Rin to make an affronted sound. 

“Gross,” Rin wrinkles his nose before pulling away, “You’re disgusting.” 

Motoya rolls his eyes before getting on his toes. He presses his lips against Rin’s face, and Rin can feel a smile forming on Motoya’s mouth. It would have been cute, if only Motoya didn’t choose to bite Rin’s cheeks immediately after. The taller man gives a small yelp and swats Motoya away, who’s laughing - clearly much too pleased with himself. 

“Screw you,” Motoya says between peals of laughter, “I skipped my morning jog just to laze around with you.” 

“Fuck you,” Rin pokes at Motoya’s side, causing the other man to squirm, “Didn’t you have enough of me yesterday?” 

Motoya laughs sweetly, pushing back into Rintarou’s chest. “I don’t think I could ever get enough of you,” he states with a bright smile, as if the sentence is meant to be some sort of truth. 

Komori has always been warm to the touch, but right now, Rintarou feels as if he’s on fire, as Motoya pulls away from him. The other man, still wearing nothing but his shirt tears open the coffee packets, pours the contents into the ceramic orifice. 

Komori Motoya looking as if he’s meant to be in Suna Rintarou’s apartment. As if he belongs here, even though Rintarou has never really thought of the space in these four walls as _home_ , but Motoya looks as if he belongs here. 

Heartbeat picking up the pace, or has his heart always been beating at this pace with the other man around? He isn’t sure anymore, but there’s an ugly feeling crawling up his throat, claws that are threatening to reveal themselves from between his teeth, slip out his mouth. 

Motoya whisks one mug first, till the beverage is the colour cream and chocolate and pushes it in his direction. “That’s for you to wake up, Rin,” he offers with a wink, then proceeds to make his own drink. 

Rintarou warms his cold hands with the mug, a chill in his spine that makes him want to bend over from the sensation. 

“Thanks,” is his quiet response, before he takes a sip of the coffee. 

It is a beautiful morning. This is supposed to be his apartment. Yet all his legs seem to want is to run far, far away from the other man. He wonders if this is supposed to be the indication of a beginning or an end. 

* * *

If Rintarou had to be honest, Komori Motoya had been something akin to a thorn in his side during his volleyball career during high school for a simple reason:

Liberos were not meant to catch him off-guard. 

His main function as a middle blocker was more offensive than defensive, to fool opposing middle blockers and lead liberos by the nose to the opposite direction of where he would hit. Yet each time Inarizaki played Itachiyama, if not Sakusa Kiyoomi, then it'd be #13 bumping his spikes back to their setter. Like a well-oiled machine, gears in place and the point would go to Itachiyama. 

At the time, he didn't bother remembering #13's name, just knew that #13 was a pain in the ass, and Rintarou never liked getting himself involved with what he deemed troublesome - Miya twins being the sole exception. 

Or maybe volleyball deserved its own category of exceptions, and the twins had happened to fit in there. Volleyball was something that he had started in Tokyo, and took with him to Hyogo, allowing his assimilation into the school to come easy. Even before officially starting his first year of high school, there was never any doubt where his place would be, as he already had been granted an athletic scholarship. 

Occasionally, he would wonder if he actually liked volleyball, or was just good at it. Or if he liked it because he was good at it. And if he liked it because he was good at it, did that make him a lesser player compared to the other players in his generation? 

Say, for instance Atsumu, who was an absolute nut for the sport, dedicating all his spare time to improving his serves and tosses. Or Kita-san, who wasn’t a monster in his own right, but managed to rein them all in by sheer character alone. Kita-san who wasn’t a monster, but simply played the sport well, and played the sport to the extent of his abilities because he thought diligence and perseverance _felt good_. 

Considering gratification, it was only on the day of his senior’s graduation day when he had decided what volleyball meant to him, and why he liked it. As he had bid them goodbye, it had struck him that he wouldn’t have met others that he would have come to cherish and respect if it weren’t for the sport. 

So maybe some players played volleyball because it was volleyball. Rintarou plays because he’s always curious to see what kind of people he will meet, let them pass him by, but if they meant something to him, he’d like to think that he would remember them.

Volleyball is fun, it’s demanding, and maybe the best part of it is when he meets someone that challenges him to do better. Not that he would admit it out loud, ever say it, but volleyball is a career that he’s staying in for the people.

* * *

_“Oh! Aren’t you Inarizaki’s middle blocker?”_

It’s too early to be perceived. 

This is suffering, especially coming from a voice that he can’t seem to recognize but seems to know who he is? The voice is cheery, light, and much too jubilant for ass'o'clock in the morning. 

His ribs hurt, which is his own fault. His head is still heavy, which is the fault of a professional athlete’s regime. He was scouted, there wasn’t much fuss involved regarding the transition, though, Rintarou didn’t get the chance to meet any of his new teammates just yet. 

And maybe he was a little bit of a fool, forgetting to consider how others he used to play on the national stage would one day play by his side. Professional sports didn’t care about your petty high school grudges. Being a professional meant that you could learn how to play by anyone’s side - create rapport based on the similar desire to _win_. 

When he had played for Inarizaki, their focus had always been on attacks first and foremost, which led to gaps in their defenses. Being called “The Strongest Challengers” had always amused Rintarou, especially when what it really was Atsumu trying out new things on the fly, and Osamu enabling him. It would be Rintarou testing his own limits, seeing how far he could twist. It’s Kita holding the team together by speaking, and Aran holding the team together by listening. It’s about how none of them actually fitted together seamlessly, but made it work somehow, offense being their prime defense as well. 

Score before the other side has the chance to score. 

Inarizaki’s playstyle has always been about overwhelming the opposing side with sheer speed and strength. Going so fast that the other team couldn’t even dream of catching up. If anything, Rintarou has always played hard and played fast, because victory was a momentary thing, and while he liked the adrenaline, he didn’t see the point of overexerting oneself if winning could be predetermined by creating a cavernous gap in score from the very beginning. 

Wasted effort was something Rintarou did not appreciate. 

The sound of a quick stride approaching him from behind, and Rintarou knows that he should be making an effort to be friendly with a possible teammate, but again, it’s ass’o’clock in the morning. He doesn’t want to deal with a familiarly unfamiliar face, especially if it’s someone he doesn’t remember or want to remember. 

“Damn,” comes a low whistle, followed by a chuckle, “You never looked like a morning person from across the court, but having it confirmed in person is hilarious.” 

Brown hair, dotted eyebrows, amber eyes under the orange glow of the morning sun. A too familiar face, one that has a number attached to it, instead of a name. 

In Rintarou’s second year of high school, the boy- no, man now, was simply Itachiyama’s #13 and libero. Maybe Sakusa Kiyoomi’s not-boyfriend. Who knows. The two of them always seemed friendly. 

“Hngh,” Suna can’t help the groan that escapes his mouth, “Do you always pop up to strangers and be rude?” 

The chuckle becomes a guffaw and no-longer #13 straightens himself, walking by Suna’s side with a bounce in his step. “Hey, I tried to give a friendly greeting, but you’re the one who didn’t bother answering back,” sounding more amused than offended, “I just wanted to check if you were still functioning,” a pause, before a cheeky smile slips onto his face, “which it seems like you barely are.”

“Wow,” and Suna tries to keep his voice as flat as possible, “You really are rude.” 

“Nah,” #13 denies that statement with a laugh, “I’m just assuming you’re on the way to the Raijin’s home base. What if I buy you coffee to help you wake up, and we call it even?” 

“I hope you know you’re kind of pushy,” Suna shakes his head helplessly, knowing that he’s been swept into the other’s pace, “but I won’t say no to free coffee.”

“Charming,” #13 winks at him, “but I promise you, being pushy is a requirement when you’re teammates with Sakusa Kiyoomi. Wouldn’t you say the same for Miya Atsumu?”

Suna snorts at that. “No way. You just learn how to not get pushed around by him and ‘Samu.” His new teammate brings up familiar names; Suna wonders if #13 knows his name. 

He doesn’t bother asking. He’ll find out soon enough. There’s no need to embarrass the two of them with premature introductions.

* * *

Komori Motoya is a menace of a man. 

Round eyebrows and dimpled cheeks when he smiles. When he speaks, his sentences sound both confident and honest, which is why when Washio reminisces over his years in Tokyo like an old man - Suna isn't surprised to find out that Komori is the one that had proposed a group chat for Tokyo high school liberos, that eventually became the district's gossip ring. 

"I wasn't that bad!" Komori protests Washio's claims as the three of them had created a routine of stretching together after practice together. The banter between Komori and Washio is always fun to listen to, seeing as their previous academies were constantly toe-to-toe. 

"Look. Tokyo finding out about Daishou and Yamaka-chan's break up has nothing to do with me, and everything to do with all you third years at the time!" Komori is bent over, fingertips looped over the tip of his shoes. "I just felt bad for Akama! He said that Daishou was sooooo heartbroken during Nationals that year. Plus," Komori huffs, rolling back up, "I'm pretty sure it was either Komi or Yaku who had let the news spread at the time," having the audacity to pout, refusing any claim of responsibility. 

Washio hums in amusement, "I heard they're still together now despite their… five?" 

"Six," Komori corrects, which has the other middle blocker raising his brows at the younger man in disbelief. 

"Six break-ups," Washio sighs, "which we wouldn't know of, if you didn't suggest the group chat. All of us would have been blissfully unaware." 

"Well Washio," Komori argues, "do you blame Tweeter when its users make bad takes? Probably no, because platforms can't control their users so!" Komori sticks his tongue out at his senior, "Don't shoot the messenger!" 

Washio gives another sigh, one of defeat, before giving Suna a look, one seeking moral support. And Suna, remembering all the videos he has of past teammates being dumbasses uploaded in Instapic, can only shake his head. Let the poor man know he's fighting a losing battle. 

"My verdict is out of Komori's control," which earns him a touched grin from the libero, which. Needs to be stamped down immediately, "however, that doesn't make him any less of a horrible little gremlin." 

The older middle blocker cracks a crooked smile at that. The libero has his mouth drop in indignation. 

"I'm only 10cm shorter than you!" 

"Still short," Suna smirks, turning away to the side to stretch his left leg, "Anyway. Most importantly, still shorter than me."

* * *

Considering friendships, what he had with Komori was easy.

Easy as in _we’re on the same team_ easy, _we live in the same direction_ easy, _we love making fun of our former teammates_ easy, and _sometimes he lets me fall asleep on his shoulder during a long bus ride_ easy. The kind of easy that it’s a no-brainer that Komori would try to shoulder some of his weight, and help him back home after having a bit too much to drink. 

Not his fault, because it’s been a while since he last saw Aran-senpai, and the Raijin’s win against the Falcon’s was hard won. A gruelling five sets, but victory is a sweet thing, and it’s twice as sweet because Rintarou thought that he saw a bit of pride in Aran’s eyes. The way a parent looks at their children all fond, as if going _ah yes my child has left the house and is all grown up now_. 

Which is sweet, especially since all Rintarou did the entire game was give Hakuba a headache. Taunt after taunt, and despite the other man being a little over two metre tall, Rintarou has made peace with how it's usually the smaller being that intends to strike fear into another's soul. 

Prime example of _fear the small_ would be the Adler's Hoshiumi, and the other that immediately comes to mind is Kita-san. Rintarou himself has been called short for a middle blocker, so more power to him when he manages to tool tall and taller.

So Hakuba? Just a towering puppy of a man. Probably the type that never gave his upperclassmen too many worries, being an earnest big boy. Aran had given one of his infamous back slaps of victory when Hakuba had scraped the Falcons the fourth set's match point with a clean block-out, and the taller of the two had managed a grimace of a smile with a pained _thank you_. 

Still, it's nice seeing Aran be so lively now - as once Aran had admitted that he did miss the Inarizaki VBC, and rebuilding rapport with his new teammates was… hard. A little difficult, and while the fast friendship might have been surprising to some of the other members, Rintarou supposes that volleyball, a _team sport_ , would be work that's more enjoyable if everyone got along, instead of just tolerated each other. The world of sports really was just another form of entertainment. 

Speaking of entertainers, Komori’s a natural one, as again, he strikes up easy conversation no matter where he goes, who’s he with. He laughs at Aran’s old-timey jokes, seeming to know each of the punchlines to all the shows that Aran has watched. Talks about reality TV, muses about the one where people are forced to eat everything within vicinity in hopes of finding chocolate-made furniture, or shoes. Flirting carelessly with Hakuba, asks him if he’s any good at dancing and if he’d want to hit any of the clubs nearby. 

Pretty lashes and all that, before Washio has deemed himself the Komori-wrangler, dragging him from poor old Hakuba, two metres tall and unable to defend himself from someone a head shorter than him with a megawatt beam. Rin orders himself another draft, watches as Washio gives Komori a little chop on the head, telling him to behave. Komori, a child, merely sticks his tongue out, cheeks a little red, and _ah-_

Is he drunk? Already? Whatever, he sticks his tongue out, and asks Washio who’s he going to snitch to if he’s just fooling around. Iizuna? Sakusa? To that, Washio merely sighs, long-suffering, mutters something about _Tokyo brats_ despite being from Tokyo himself. He really shouldn’t have been expecting any peace the moment Motoya and Rintarou had joined the roster. 

Rintarou scrunches his nose, seeing how easily Komori loops an arm around Washio’s neck, bringing him down to his level. Washio makes a disgruntled sound but there’s no hiding the shadow of a smile on his face. Rintarou drains his beer to half-glass before Komori finally takes a seat beside him, sighing contentedly when he rests his head on Rintarou’s shoulder. Rintarou, feeling petty, a little annoyed for no good reason wants to shove Komori’s head off of him. Instead, he sets down the mug with a little more force than necessary and gives an exaggerated huff that grabs Komori’s attention. 

“What? Tired of fooling around?” and Rintarou is trying to keep his voice as disinterested as possible, disdainful even, “Shouldn’t fraternize with the enemy too much, you know?” 

Komori blinks at him, before giving a little giggle, ears tipped the slightest shade of red before asking between peals of the chime-like sound, “Jealous?” he raises an eyebrow with a lopsided smile, “Or are you just cranky because you’re drunk and I’m having _so much_ fun,” drags the word ‘so’ and more of his weight against Suna, basically two arms wrapped around one of Rintarou’s. 

The middle-blocker rolls his eyes at his more than slightly inebriated libero, giving him a little flick on the forehead, which earns him a pout from the shorter man. “Looks like you're more drunk than I am,” Rintarou smirks, “Think you’ll be able to make it home fine?” 

“If you’re so worried about me getting home safe, maybe you should take me home,” Komori laughs. The sound is lighthearted, but Rintarou has always been a magnet for challenges, narrows his eyes even though it’s just something innocuous. Of course he wants Komori Motoya to reach home safely, they’re teammates after all. 

And if Komori died in the middle of the night because he was drunk and cracked his skull while trying to enter his home, replacing their current starting libero with another one would be less than ideal. Rintarou likes winning, the connection that their current libero has with all the other players guarantees a higher chance of victory because everyone trusts Komori that much, even if he’s a terrible shithead at times. Maybe everyone can trust him so readily, eyes closed with full faith that Komori will get the ball in the back row because Komori is a shithead that gives a fuck about relations on-and-off court. He gives a fuck about everyone, and maybe that’s why he’s so easy to be around. 

“Well,” and Rin drowns his draft till it’s all down his throat, wipes at his mouth with the back of his hand then continues to speak, “If you want to go home now, we can bounce.” 

Komori blinks at him, opens his mouth, closes it and furrows his brows. Tries again when he speaks, "You sure? It isn't often you'll get a chance to hang out with Ojiro." 

Rintarou blinks back at him, unable to hold back his laugh. "Since when did you care about who your teammates hang out with? Making sure that they get quality time and all that with previous upperclassmen," pokes at Komori's cheeks, and _oh,_ maybe Rintarou is a little drunk too. 

The libero huffs before turning away, crossing his arms. "I mean. If Sakusa was in town, I'd take every chance I could get to be an annoyance to him. Same with all my old teammates," now sticking his tongue out at Rintarou. The taller man blinks, feels a knot in his chest before untangling it, shaking his head in disbelief. 

"You're terrible," Rintarou gets up, helping Komori up while he's at it. Komori accepts his help with a silly little smile and Rintarou wishes he could wipe it off the other man's face. 

He doesn't though. 

He tells their captain that Motoya is drunk, and should probably head home early. He tells Aran goodbye and that they should grab lunch together sometime. 

Before the two of them make their way out of the izakaya though, Washio tells the two of them to not get into trouble. The taller man's gaze resting on Rintarou's arm which Komori has looped his elbow around. Rintarou only laughs in return and tells him that they're both too drunk to get into trouble. 

Washio only shakes his head, mumbles something about _blind leading the blind_. 

* * *

"Hey," Rintarou gives Komori's cheek a soft slap, making a _pap_ sound, “Komori. ‘Mori. Hey.” 

Komori's arm is draped around his shoulder and muffles his face further into Rintarou’s sleeve, his groan almost lost in the fabric. “What?” 

“We’re-” and oops, Rintarou was about to make a mistake there, tries again, “You’re home. I’m not going to fish out your keys for you.” 

He’s not, but he knows exactly where Komori keeps his spare keys - in the mailbox. It’s a terrible hiding spot, but Komori has made fun of Rin’s worries, stating that there really is nothing worth stealing in the house, and lugging a television from the 5th floor seems like too much of a hassle for anyone. Rintarou still thinks that one day Komori is going to eat his words though, especially since they’ve reached the kind of companionship where they can just show up at the other’s abode with no warning, mooch dinner off the other if they’ve sent a text beforehand. 

The bond they have as teammates is just simply _easy_. Being in Komori’s presence was just nice, no expectations. 

but he lives in the opposite direction of the two of them, and has had an extra year to get to know the other big boys on the team. Sure, he’s gained the title “Monster Wrangler” as a joke from the older members of the Raijins, but Suna can’t help but feel they’re still on the footing of teammates, trying to be friends. When they hang out, Komori is usually there as a third, dragging all three of them to have dinner in a nearby ramen place near the gym after a particularly gruelling practice. 

“What do you mean _home?_ ” Komori looks up at him, eyes suddenly bright with confusion, before taking a look around and giving a little gasp, “Wait you actually brought me home?!” 

Rintarou is so very tempted to put a hand over Komori’s mouth just to shut him up. It’s 11pm, his neighbours are going to call the cops on them. “Hush, you agreed. You’re home now, so open the door and tuck yourself into bed now, like a good boy.” 

Under the fluorescent hallway lights in the corridor, Komori blushes a cute shade of pink. “I wasn’t expecting you to… you could have stayed with the others. Really team-bonding events are good! I just forgot that I’m bad with alcohol,” Komori babbles while looking sheepish and Suna clicks his tongue. 

“We’re here already so just go on in, alright?” Komori seems to have finally noticed that his arm has been around Suna’s the entire time, and detaches from him in a manner that’s almost shy. It’s cute, different from the usual confidence that the man holds himself with. The night is a little cold though, so Rintarou regrets telling Komori to let go of him so soon. 

Komori fiddles with his keys, making a small triumphant sound when he finally gets the key through the hole. Opens the door, before turning to look at Rintarou. “Want to come in? The last thing I remember is you downing a draft. I’m pretty sure you wouldn’t have sent me home if you were completely sober,” and there’s that familiar impish grin.

Rintarou gives the other man a shove, but Komori hooks his leg around Rintarou’s ankle, dragging him to the ground with him. The combined weight of two big boy athletes cause them both to skid on the wooden floor, Suna on top Komori, door slamming behind them as Rintarou is no longer keeping it open. 

“I’m capable of taking care of others too, you know?” 

It’s hard not to sound petulant now made aware that the other man has such a low opinion of him, but also, did Komori always look this cute? Is it the dim light? With only a quarter of Motoya’s face illuminated? Rintarou isn’t sure, but Komori is looking awfully transfixed with his face. 

“What’s up?” Suna gives a crooked grin, “You’re gonna stare a hole into my face at this rate, ‘Mori.” 

Komori laughs at that, smiles back easy, “That’d be a shame,” he murmurs and it’s like all tension previously found in front of the door has dissipated, “You have a very nice face. The world would mourn the loss of it.” 

The libero looks so easy to hold. Maybe Komori was right, Rintarou is probably still a little drunk, and between masquerading as a passable, functional human being, behind closed doors, Rin just wants to let his limbs go a little loose. A part of him wants to pull Motoya into a kiss.

He’s sober enough to know that he wants to kiss Motoya this very moment though. 

Leans in but Komori gently presses a palm against Rintarou’s mouth despite Rin already having figured out the perfect angle to claim Komori’s lips for himself. “Not the mouth, Rin,” that’s a soft whisper, and the nickname that occasionally slips off Komori’s tongue - one syllable long, so Rintarou can’t blame him. It’s efficient to grab his attention after all. 

“Why not?” Rintarou holds the other man’s wrist, kisses the inside of his palm. Palms that only get used for overhand passes, and today his forearms are bruised red and purple. He worked hard this game, Rin thinks offering the other man a little TLC isn’t too bad. Thinks that they can allow themselves to have a bit of fun. 

The libero laughs at that, but it’s not an unwelcome sound, maybe a little helpless in how… fond it is. Both of them high from victory perhaps. “Is nothing sacred to you?” 

“What?” Rintarou retorts, “Are you trying to tell me that you’re a romantic, Motoya?” Calls the other man by his given name, syllables still unfamiliar on his tongue, but decides that it sounds good. 

Ko-Mo-Ri Mo-To-Ya. 

The other man has a name that suits his face. The other second years had said that Rin’s face suits his name too. 

“Romantics wouldn’t do hook-ups now, would they?” and there’s a boundary being drawn now, Rintarou can work with that though. 

“Oh? Is that what this is?” 

“You’re insufferable,” Motoya laughs a little more, “But sure, if you want this now. And if it’s good, we can do this again. I’ll let you have me any way you want.”

“Except for the mouth though.” 

“Except for the mouth,” followed by a disarming smile, and how could Rintarou say _no_ to that, especially with how sweetly Motoya’s eyes had crinkled at the edges.

* * *

Sleeping together ends up with the two of them fooling around on the couch. No kisses on the mouth according to Motoya's - he'd been given to call Komori _Motoya_ \- wishes, so he ended up marking up the other man with his teeth instead. 

No where that couldn't be covered up by a jersey, which is a shame since Rin has always been fond of collarbones between his teeth. Tsumu had always called him a bit of a sadist, courtesy of a rotten personality. It wasn't his fault that he found struggling to be so fascinating at times. 

Motoya didn't struggle though. Had simply allowed Rin to climb on top of him and pin him down. Rin straddling his weight over Komori, a similar position to what they had in front of the door, just on a softer surface. The plane of Motoya's stomach was a soft surface, even if he had athlete abs. Maybe that was an illusion from palm ghosting over skin, shirt fabric grazing over knuckles before he had pulled it over the other man’s head. 

“Sure this is okay?” Rintarou had whispered into the crook of Motoya’s neck, juncture where it meets the shoulder, other hand now sinking lower and lower, four fingers hooking the other man’s waistband. Motoya tilts his head to the side, eyes hazy with desire, something akin to content, “Yeah, this is fine. Unless you don’t want to?” blinking at Rin, waiting, waiting. 

“I want to,” Rintarou had confirmed, and they had left it at that.

* * *

Rintarou had woken up alone the next morning, with a blanket draped over him, so it wasn’t that bad. He had considered slipping away without a sound after washing up in the bathroom, but then he had heard the sound of a door opening. 

“Suna?” that was Komori’s voice calling out to him, “I saw your shoes but if you want to head back that’s chill.” There’s the sound of wax paper rustling, “Though I got breakfast on my run, croissants and coffee.”

Hearing that, Suna pops his head out with the ghost of a smile tugging at his lips. “Well, aren’t you the generous host,” drawling his words while Komori had only laughed in response. 

“Get out of the bathroom, I’m gross and sweaty and in need of a shower.” 

“Demanding.” 

“Like you aren’t?”

* * *

_“So what are we now?”_

_“Well, you’re Rintarou and I’m Motoya. There doesn’t need to be a_ **_we_ ** _if you don’t like that.”_

_“Cool.”_

* * *

So he’s Rintarou and Motoya’s Motoya and really there should be nothing complicated about the arrangement that they had made which has been bordering on for almost a year now. 

Sometimes they end up in Motoya’s apartment to fool around to let off some steam from maybe a particularly bad loss. Usually they end up in Rin’s because then they don’t have to cross the road, and sometimes they just want to have a little bit of fun. 

This morning he had woken up alone, again, because Motoya had made him instant coffee in a scene that was disgustingly domestic. Motoya left him about 30 minutes ago, saying that he needed to do groceries, that his own fridge has been neglected because he’s over at the other man’s so often. It’s true and borderline hilarious, seeing as Motoya rarely stays the night in the first place. 

Staying over tends to be an exception, in the case of Rin blowing out Motoya’s back, and sending the other home all ruined from a good fuck seems like poor ettiquette. At least, when he and Atsumu were still fucking around, the two of them would be equally clingy for warmth, refusing to let the other go at the time. 

It was cloying, in the nicest way possible - _don’t let me go just yet._ Osamu had left Atsumu to pursue volleyball professionally alone, while Atsumu for once, had been without his rock. Sure, separation had hurt them both, but when Sunarin had Atsumu’s back pressed against him while spooning, uncertainty would radiate off him in nervous waves. A side of Atsumu Sunarin doesn’t remember seeing back in high school, but not one that he thought to comment on, scratching the setter’s scalp soothingly. 

He wouldn’t admit it out loud any time soon, but sometimes, he did miss Atsumu’s sets. It was the expectation of knowing that the ball would hit his palm no matter what freaky angle Rintarou would bend himself in that made being on the court fun and challenging in its own right. Tsumu had pushed Suna to twist himself even further just to tool some poor ol’ middle blockers on the other side of the net. Never would he have thought that one morning, he would wake up thinking: Man, I miss ‘Tsumu’s sets. Not that his current setter was bad, it was just as if a hole of 3.5 years of shared experience was gone. He didn’t know what to make of that. 

Reaching for his ribcage, underneath his shirt, Rin knows what’s inked underneath. It’s surprising that Komori didn’t bring up his tattoo until now, but then again, maybe that’s because they’re always fucking around in the dark, and rarely does Rintarou take his shirt off - not because he’s ashamed of it or anything, but because maybe it’s crashing down on him again how much his years at Inarizaki had meant to him. 

Laughable really. He had told Motoya that he wasn’t the sentimental sort last night, but he’s never claimed to be honest either. Really, Coach Kurosawa should be shedding tears at how much of a great alumni Rin is, getting the fucking school motto tattooed underneath his heart. 

It’s not that he loves Inarizaki though, but rather he had members of the club that he loved deeply and dearly. Still part of a group chat belonging to the VBC of that year, still making trips to Onigiri Miya if he ever gets the chance because goddamn, Osamu makes the best food and volleyball was never the other man’s dream in the first place. He knew that Atsumu wanted to be the best setter in Japan, knew that Kita-san simply wanted to live each day with good and honest work. 

Right now, the coffee that Motoya had made him is only drunk to mug half-empty, lukewarm between his palms. It’s now that he’s realizing he doesn’t know what Komori Motoya wanted in the first place. 

* * *

He’s here to play volleyball. Not make room for another person. 

* * *

Three days out of seven, he's usually with Komori. Maybe another day he's having dinner with Washio too. Once a month, the entirety of the Raijins lineup would have dinner in an izakaya to foster team bonding. Those nights are always fun, but again, Rin finds himself dressing up for a Sunday afternoon. 

**[new boba place just opened]**  
**[attached img.]**  
**[wanna check it out]**  
**[?]**

**[sure]**

He looks at the text again, noting that Motoya has sent him a sticker of a shiba inu with a thumbs up. Rintarou wonders if Motoya uses that sticker pack most because of the similarities between their brows. It’s cute, Rintarou catches the side of his mouth quirking upwards, and this fondness in his chest is disgusting. 

All of a sudden it’s Sunday morning again, and Rintarou actually finds himself feeling sick, a heaviness in his chest that has him considering sending another text to Motoya stating: _sorry, thinking about hanging out with you made me feel really sick all of a sudden._ He doesn’t do that, sucks it up and slips into his pair of converses. He’s a rude motherfucker, but all that snark is typically saved for gaining an upperhand. 

Rintarou can’t figure out if there’s anything to gain out of Motoya, friendship aside. But even then, friends usually don’t ask anything of the other, don’t really think about what the other person can give. When he was fucking around with Atsumu, aside from thoughts like _“damn. can’t believe that Atsumu is kinda clingy?”_ and _“ah fuck. Shitstick is kinda cute like this,”_ Rintarou never really bothered defining what Atsumu meant to him. Maybe that was because he had taken their friendship for granted, stemmed from being teammates and being friends, close proximity forced by being in the same year and the same club. 

**Proximity** \- it always circles back to that and Rintarou wonders if he’ll take Motoya for granted eventually too. 

“Oh, that’s Kita-senpai’s usual order,” trivia that slips out his mouth carelessly, and Komori shoots him a look with raised eyebrows, lips shaped into an amused curve. 

“Classic milk tea with bubbles for your captain, right?” and Suna finds himself turning away, hates his pale skin because he’s aware of how his face is probably red, all the way to the tip of his ears, because when Atsumu had found out, he just wouldn’t shut up about it. Made it a game to fluster him at any given moment, courtesy of being an asshole. 

Whatever, Suna allows himself to deflect with a question. “I’m more surprised that you remember my teammates,” _surprised that you remember me_ is what he doesn’t say. Two men waiting by the side for their orders; Motoya poking fun at Rin’s choice of jasmine milk tea with aloe vera, assuming that he was more of a fruit type of guy.

Strawberry? Grapefruit? Just something with a warm hue. But nope, Rintarou went for something jasmine flavoured. He gets his fix of artificial fruit flavours from his beloved chuupets, thank you very much. 

“Don’t be,” Motoya laughs when they both finally get their order, opting to sit outside the cafe. He takes a sip from his drink, musing carelessly, “I only started playing libero in high school, so I gave myself homework to observe defensive plays from the back,” scratches his cheek with a finger and gives a small laugh, appearing almost bashful. “In my second year, I heard that Inarizaki’s captain was an opposite hitter defense specialist. The tapes comparing him and your libero was fun.” 

That’s new information on Motoya who Rintarou had assumed was a libero from the moment he left the womb. Gives a long sip from his drink before settling on a question, “Did you only start playing volleyball in high school or,” and drags his ‘o,’ and continues speaking, “I’m just saying. Pretty impressive if you only started playing volleyball in highschool and got number one libero during our batch.”

Motoya snorts at that before shakes his head with a fond smile. “Nah, I’ve always been kinda crazy about the game you know?” gives Rintarou a glance, “used to be an opposite hitter that specialized in defense too,” and his smile turns rueful, “I’m tall for a libero, but next to Sakusa, it’s easy to forget that I’m actually considered _tall_ ,” more laughter, “Hell, I’m pretty short for professional volleyball if we’re looking at the grander scale of things.”

Once again, Sakusa is mentioned, and there’s an ugly feeling curling in the pit of Rintarou’s stomach - doesn’t feel like examining what that feeling exactly is, where it stems from. Maybe if he ignores it, it’ll go away. “There are shorter players than you,” Rintarou reminds the other player bluntly, - _Hoshiumi_ and _Shouyou-kun_ as Atsumu fondly calls the latter, both of them opposite hitters and strong opponents, “and positions are just a formality anyway.”

Rintarou doubles as middle blocker and a spiker. Motoya doubles as libero and occasional setter if necessary. Being able to be utilized in more than one way is what makes the player even more valuable on court. 

“Says you,” Motoya nudges Rin’s side with a grin, “Don’t worry though. I’m not gonna be sad and mopey on you,” and his grin goes even brighter, “After all, I’m still making a career out of the sport I love.” He rips the top of the plastic cup away, bringing the rim to his lips to swallow ice into his mouth. Rintarou winces when he can hear the audible _crunch_ but then Motoya completes his thought. “Sakusa would talk about being lucky from time to time,” he sighs with rueful fondness this time, “good fortune being his height and wrists. Though I think,” and Motoya’s voice drops, “maybe his real fortune is simply his mindset, leaving nothing incomplete.” 

Rintarou is glad that Motoya has his eyes closed when he softly declares, “I worked hard to be here, Rin. But I also know that’s just luck too sometimes.”

* * *

_“Overly humble. People are going to take advantage of you someday.”_

_“Mmn. Maybe so, but I’m the one letting it happen, so does it really matter?”_

_“Very funny. Ah, fuck- Shit. ‘toya- You’re going to drive me insane like this.”_

_“Bold of you to assume that isn’t my goal. I think I’d like to hear your voice more.”_

_“What? Call you a_ **_good boy_ ** _while you’re on your knees- Fuck- God you’re so good with your tongue. That satisfy your praise kink?”_

_“Suna.”_

_“Yes sweetheart?”_

_“Shut up.”_

* * *

Motoya doesn’t stay the night.

Rintarou doesn’t ask him to either, and when he does, it’s usually because he ends up dozing off before Rintarou has to nudge him awake, tell him to take a shower, and relinquishes an amount of space on his mattress for Motoya to crawl back to - resume his slumber. Occasionally, Rintarou would wonder why doesn’t he insist on Motoya going home - it’s only a street away. 

They’re not in a relationship, but sometimes. Sometimes it feels like Rintarou’s brain is trying to trick him into acting as if they are. It doesn’t make sense though, because if Komori wanted something, he would have said something by now. Or at least, Rintarou never took Motoya to be the type that would shy away from what he wanted. 

After posing the challenge to have Motoya shut him up, promptly, the other man had hooked his thumb at the edge of Rintarou’s mouth and tilted his head back. Exposed his throat then sank his teeth into skin as a warning, effectively getting Rin to shut up while not breaking his own _no kissing on the mouth_ rule.

Maybe Rin had been hoping to bait the other man into kissing him good and proper. Even wondered if maybe a kiss would be the solution to all his problems - crack the code and figure out what he meant to his teammate. Instead, all he had to show for his troubles was more work, pushing Motoya back in retaliation before he sank his teeth into Motoya’s collarbone, making sure that what he had left _hurt_. The mewls Motoya had given at the time had sated Rintarou’s need for immediate gratification. 

Right now though? He runs a hand through his hair, mussed up and messy and there’s an ache in his chest, a lump in his throat. 

Darkly, he wonders if it’s because Komori would rather be kissing someone else instead. When he and Atsumu were tangled up in each other’s limbs, Rin remembers wanting all and everything Atsumu could give because Atsumu demanded all that from him first. Motoya doesn’t demand anything of himso could that mean that the other man didn't even want him in the first place? 

Doubt is an ugly thing, so again, he’s asking himself again for the nth time in months _what am I doing_ and _why am I doing this_ and before he knows it, he’s unlocked his phone screen and there’s a notification from Instapic. 

It says **[95_kmri has tagged you in a picture.]** The image being the selfie that they took earlier this afternoon outside the boba shop. Rintarou and Motoya fill up the frame, Rin with his tongue peeking out and Motoya beaming, grinning so hard his eyes are nothing more than crescents, baby blue irises completely obsolete. 

The caption catches Rintarou off-guard though, blinking twice when he reads: **sunny sunday spent with one pretty boy** \- punctuated with an emoji of a fox. 

It shouldn’t be unusual since the two of them have made a game of exchanging nicknames, the sweeter the better. Off-court and so much on court that Washio has repeatedly asked them to stop, he’s going to get gray hair before he even hits 30 and would prefer to not look like a discount version of MSBY’s Bokuto. To that, Komori had blown the other man a kiss and reassuringly told him that _it’s okay, you’ll still look hot with salt-and-pepper hair. I heard that DILFs are the new in these days._ Suna had choked on his water and Washio’s face was flushed red with disbelief as he had sputtered _that isn’t even the point?!_ mutely, true to his image of being the strong and silent type. 

That isn’t the point now though, and Rintarou can feel his chest warming up but his head is feeling light. Something needs to be done, and Rintarou isn’t entirely sure what needs to change but before he knows it, he’s pulled his messaging history with Motoya and has already typed out his thoughts and pressed send: 

**[we should stop this]**

His breathing isn’t entirely even and it only gets worse when Motoya’s answer comes back soon enough. No argument, just a simple: 

****[sure : >]** **

* * *

Practice remains normal. 

If they appear distant towards each other now, no one questions it. Their chemistry on court is excellent as ever even in official matches, so there’s nothing to complain about. They don’t talk about what happened and they don’t talk at all. When Motoya stays back, the unspoken agreement is that Suna leaves first.

If he catches Komori’s eyes lingering on his back from time to time, he doesn’t acknowledge it. Komori doesn’t acknowledge it either, shifting his gaze away when their eyes do meet

**Author's Note:**

> my [ twitter ](https://twitter.com/rinrintoya) is a komori motoya shrine and i've come to accept it now  
> big thank you to rys for chilling on discord!! it made me realize i would probably only be able to continue the fic if i like. divided it into two parts rip LMAO


End file.
